


Not What It Seems

by WhatIsAir



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:30:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIsAir/pseuds/WhatIsAir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John - ah - faster -" Sherlock groaned. "Oh - fuck, Sherlock -" The doctor growled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not What It Seems

"John - ah - faster -" Sherlock groaned, his mouth a perfect 'o' as he panted, a trickle of sweat tracing its way down from his curls to his jawline.

"Oh - fuck, Sherlock -" The doctor growled, as desperation consumed him, encompassing even their surroundings, until it narrowed down to nothing but himself and Sherlock.

The detective threw his head back and writhed, his bare torso a long, lean line, as he strained against the bonds that held him, hands frantically scrambling for purchase on the silver handcuffs.

John moaned in frustration, working a hand between them to reach his goal, and began the painstaking task of bringing them both to release.

"I can't - John - it's too -" Sherlock gasped, then broke off on a pant as heat flooded his skin and a sheen of sweat glistened on his pale face, cheeks now sporting two spots of red.

"I know, just - relax, okay? Nearly there -" John said on a shaky exhale, eyes slipping shut for the briefest moment before snapping back open - focusing on the here, the now, as his normally steady surgeon's hands continued their frenetic scrabbling between their bodies.

Sherlock let out an inarticulate garble that John chose to interpret as 'hurry the fuck up, John', all the while tugging futilely at his expertly bound arms, positively growling with impatience when they did not yield.

John's hand brushed against Sherlock's abdomen, eliciting a hiss from the detective. "Nngh - so hot - goddammit Sherlock you're so hot -" John gasped, returning his appendage to its original position, and ducking his head so he could see what his hands were doing.

"So are - you -" grunted Sherlock, gazing down at John with cerulean-blue eyes currently unfocused and hazy, pupils blown wide and dilated, consternation furrowing his brow and marring the smooth line of his forehead. "John - I think I'm - going to com-" the rest of his sentence was lost as Sherlock choked on the words, the heat proving too much for him.

Biting his lip, John gave a rather inelegant twist of his wrist and tugged, causing Sherlock to draw in a sharp breath, and re-double his efforts with the bonds, his ribs showing as he moved.

Then John executed a fluid maneuver and broke free of his own bindings (he'd picked up a trick or two from his army days, after all), but even he had to admit the killer knew what he was doing - the bonds had been extremely hard to get out of, and with the state they were currently in, there was no way they'd be able to make it to help with them both alive.

Before him, Sherlock visibly relaxed, albeit still cuffed and bound securely in place. "Go, John - I'll be fine -" he rasped, even as the stifling heat threatened to suffocate him, giving his voice a rough, sand-paper-like quality - a symptom of asphyxiation, John knew.

"Don't - be an - idiot -" John panted, struggling to keep carrying out respiration instead of crumpling to the floor and just letting the burning heat consume him. "I'm - not - leaving you -"

With renewed vigour John set to work on Sherlock's bonds, which had been done much more securely than John's (because apparently the murderer had found Sherlock to be the greater threat), and included some rather intricate knots that were fairly impossible to free.

"Just - go, John - I'll be right - behind you -" The detective flailed weakly, pushing at the doctor's hands, attempting to nudge John towards the door and safety.

"Shut up - just - shuddup..."

John could feel both his and Sherlock's breathing growing increasingly heavy as they fought for breath in the steam-filled, choke-inducing atmosphere, the intake of oxygen becoming more and more difficult.

Sherlock's eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped bonelessly, held by his bonds. John felt his eyes slip shut and his world tilt.

And then -

Water. Cool, soothing, rejuvenating water.

John felt life seeping back into him as the overhead sprinklers dissipated the smoke and steam, leaving a distinctly wet sauna room in its wake.

A glance at Sherlock showed him to be conscious, having been revived by the cold water as well, and for a moment the two simply drew in deep lungfuls of air and remembered what it was like to breathe.

Having regained his breath, the detective flashed John a smile. "That - um, thing you did - just now - that was... good."

John grinned back, leaning against Sherlock's shoulder since his legs had yet to support his own weight steadily, still slightly breathless. "The sentiment is returned."

They stood grinning like a pair of loons at each other, pressed together from shoulder to knee, both still coming down from the adrenaline high a near-death experience could bring.

Which was how Lestrade and his team found them when they burst into the sauna, brandishing their guns and generally making fools of themselves since there was no culprit to be caught.

So when Lestrade's and his team's jaws collectively hit the floor, and Sherlock let out a derisive-sounding laugh, John frowned and tried to work out what the joke was.

"What's up with them?" he muttered into the detective's ear, "Are they alright?"

Sherlock smirked, a single tilt of his cupid's bow of a mouth. Unlike John, he didn't bother whispering. "Let's see, John. These men have just activated the sprinklers and burst in, expecting some kind of confrontation with the killer involving guns or some other form of weapon, and instead they've found two lunatics all over each other, one of them shirtless-" he indicated his own naked chest, "-and chained," he rattled the cuffs tethering him,"naturally their dirty minds jumped to the conclusion that we had been engaging in sex involving bondage-"

"You haven't, then?" Lestrade cut in, the greenish tinge leaving his features a bit, as he and the other officers lowered their guns.

"Of course not-" John began indignantly.

"-we wouldn't do that in public," Sherlock smoothly interrupted, "We don't do exhibitionism."

It was John's jaw to hit the floor this time. "Sherlock!" he hissed, "We're not even-"

"Remotely interested in what you have to say, John," the detective smirked, raising an eyebrow at John, silently daring him to contradict his words.

John set his jaw, refusing to back down from the challenge. "The bondage isn't normally this light; we typically use a St. Andrew's cross."

The comment earned him a fleeting look of surprise and admiration on Sherlock's face, and fake gagging noises from Lestrade, who was currently helping Sherlock out of his bonds.

"I don't want to know if you were being serious or not," the detective inspector said, having finished freeing Sherlock, who stretched like a cat and retrieved his crumpled shirt from the floor, where the killer had flung it out of pure spite, upon seeing it was Dolce & Gabbana.

"Oh, we were," the detective smirked, deftly buttoning up his shirt, leaving the top few undone before directing a wink at John, who blushed in spite of himself. "Lestrade, you'll find the killer tomorrow, dead, probably having drowned himself in the Thames. He isn't going to kill anyone tonight except himself; he's apparently had enough of this 'shitty life' as he put it. I've already sent the people he was holding hostage to Scotland Yard, they're having their statements taken as we speak. Now if you'll excuse me, John and I are going to go home and have proper sex, the St. Andrew's cross being optional."

Lestrade emulated a blowfish. "But - what about your statements? Sherlock!"

"We'll be in tomorrow to give out statements, now sod off, I really need a shag," John told the spluttering Lestrade.

And so the detective and his doctor (or rather, the doctor and his detective), swept through the door dramatically.

After which they went home and had sex. Lots and lots of sex.

**Author's Note:**

> The sentence Sherlock didn't finish saying was "John - I think I'm - going to combust." You know, what with the unbearable heat and all that. Also, it seemed like a good euphemism :3
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that, I certainly enjoyed writing it :)


End file.
